


12 Days

by sunryder



Series: 12 Days of Christmas [1]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010), NCIS, Sherlock (TV), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Gen, M/M, Stargate Atlantis AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-13
Updated: 2011-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-27 07:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunryder/pseuds/sunryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One drabble for each of the 12 Days of Christmas, playing around in different universes where I didn't have a whole story, but wanted to see the characters there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sherlock - Victorian

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: When I was writing for Nanowrimo I kept getting inspiration for some of my favorite characters in other universes. I told myself I could write a drabble for them and then get back to work, and this is what I ended up with. There are 12 drabbles of increasing length, three each for Sherlock, NCIS, Hawaii 5-0, and XMFC. And since it's a pet peeve of mine to have to sort through giant drabble lists to figure out which piece deals with my particular pairing, I have the chapter titles labeled for easy sorting. Fandom, and then the Universe they're playing in.
> 
> Let me know if there's any universe you particularly enjoy and I'll think about coming back to it. Happy Christmas!

Despite all the fine things that came along with serving Queen Victoria, Mrs. Hudson's favorite was watching John Watson while he watched Sherlock Holmes go striding past.

John was a guard (a favorite of Prince Albert's, but still, a guard), and the young master Holmes was, as all Holmeses before him, a spymaster. Needless to say, two segments of society not known for mixing particularly well.

Holmes was ruthlessly honest and loathed politics, but that didn't change the fact that he was brilliant beyond reason, and he was the man trusted to make a report on domestic concerns to Prince Albert. Every week Sherlock came for his meeting, and every week John blushed like mad as the man swept past. Sherlock was always thoroughly engrossed in something as he went dashing by, meaning that he never looked up to see how young John stared at him with eyes that pleaded, 'Look at me!' At least once a month the sweet boy tried to work up the courage to say something, anything, to Sherlock... but John never did quite manage to get the words out.

It was a frightfully brisk day, which meant that with his tousled hair and ruddy cheeks John was looking particularly adorable, and Mrs. Hudson decided that it was time to give the boys a nudge in the right direction. Sherlock came swooping down the hall in his black greatcoat, his own unruly curls all wind tossed, and Mrs. Hudson didn't even need to look over at John to know the sight of a half-wild Sherlock was too much for him to even think about speaking.

Mrs. Hudson popped up from where she was bent over 'dusting' the floorboards and crashed into Sherlock at just the right angle to send him spilling into John. "Oh goodness me, Master Holmes! I'm so sorry, Sir!" She frantically brushed her hands over his jacket, trying to straighten out the mussed lines of him and not quite realizing that she was flicking the duster across his face.

Sherlock tried to back away from her, sputtering frantically at the feathers flicking at his nose, but Mrs. Hudson kept brushing away at him until John gently grabbed her wrists and said, "I think it's better now, Mrs. Hudson."

She gave him one final brush and said, "Oh dear, I suppose that will have to do."

John gave her a soft smile and tugged her out of Sherlock's space. John was too well raised to stop himself from asking, "A-are you alright, Sir?"

Sherlock raised an elegant eyebrow and gave John a very long look up and down his sturdy frame, long enough that John's ever-present blush blossomed under the scrutiny. "I don't think I've been called 'Sir' in years."

"Why?"

"They tend to avoid talking to me."

"But, that's mad. You're brilliant, why would people avoid you?"

Sherlock's usually placid expression flipped through a whole set of expressions, before he settled on a charming blush of his own.


	2. Hawaii 50 - Stargate Atlantis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 of the Twelve Days of Christmas. Hawaii 5-0 in Stargate: Atlantis.

"I'm not gonna lie. I hate you right now."

 

The blast from a wraith stunner ripped past the tree Danny was crouched behind, and Steve smiles, "Nah brah, you love me."

 

While Steve and Danny snarked and fired so the Wraiths' attention would stay on them, Kono and Chin had worked their way behind the enemy. Chin popped up from behind a rock and Kono dropped down from a tree (and Danny made a mental note to ask her how in the hell she got up there if they lived through this). A couple of clean shots to the head and the Wraith were down long enough for the four of them to make a run for the gate. 

 

Well, _Danny_ ran. 

 

The rest of the marines ("I'm a SEAL Danno, they're marines. There's a difference.") who surrounded him acted like it was a brisk, Sunday morning stroll. The third time Danny tripped over a root and had to be hauled back to his feet by Steve's hand on his tac vest Danny said, "Really, I do hate you. You know what they have back on that nice planet called Earth? Sidewalks. And all these dirt and trees? They're kept under lock and key in things called parks so that normal, civilized human beings don't have to deal with them."

 

All that got was affectionate chuckled from the rest of SGA-5. (Whom the rest of Atlantis called SGA 5-0 since three of the four members all hailed from Hawaii, and the whole base refused to listen to Danny's protests that there would be a snowball's chance in hell that they would somehow talk him into moving there with them.) 

 

Danny hadn't even meant to come to Atlantis. He'd been freshly stripped of all his parental rights, drunk, and looking for a fight when he'd stumbled across Lt. Commander Steve McGarrett. Danny vaguely recalled some punches and some snarking, and the next thing he knew he was waking up wretchedly hungover on a flight from Jersey to Colorado. Somehow -- and Danny would ask himself 'merciful heavens, why?' for the rest of his days -- Steve had talked Danny into staying out west for a couple of hours and having a chat with his boss. 

 

Then there wormholes, and Atlantis, and Danny having an Ancient gene so strong that one of the scientists literally laid down on the table and told him to impregnate her right then and there. (Kono didn't stop laughing for days, Chin couldn't get over someone using 'impregnate' in every day conversation, and Steve didn't let that scientist anywhere near Danny ever again.)

 

All that had led to him here, in the middle of nowhere, in a galaxy normal people never heard of, getting shot at by space. freaking. vampires. 

 

While they ran, Steve darted around Danno, sheep-dogging Atlantis' only cop to the gate, and giggled like outrunning a Wraith stunner was somehow equivalent to playing tag. That smile made Danny not mind it so much. 


	3. NCIS - Harry Potter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 of the 12 Days of Christmas. NCIS - Harry Potter

Tony hated having a name at the beginning of the alphabet. It meant you had to sit at the front of the class where the teacher could see you hadn't done your homework, and you had go first when you'd watch everyone else take a try so you could do it properly. 

 

Like now. 

 

He understood the basic principles of getting sorted -- it wasn't that hard. You put the hat on, wait for it to say Slytherin and go to your table -- but he still wanted more time, just to make sure. 

 

There'd been a B ("Benoit, Jeanne", pretty Slytherin girl who seemed a little shocked at her house, but Tony figured he get the chance to find out for sure in about two people when he got sorted to the same house), and then a D ("David, Ziva" who was such a Slytherin that the Sorting Hat barely even waited to touch her head before shouting it to the hall). And now, it was Tony's turn. 

 

"DiNozzo, Anthony!" was met with a whisper or two and some kind smiles from the older students he knew. (Well, the older students who weren't Slytherins.)

 

He mentally reminded himself, 'Don't trip. Don't trip.' as he walked up to the spindly stool where the Sorting Hat was waiting. He bit back a flash of irritation at whoever decided to have a stool so tall he he had to hop to sit on it, then settled the hat at a jaunty angle. And ignored the way it immediately dropped down over his ears. 

 

The Hat's voice whispered in his mind, _"My, my, my, you seem rather sure of yourself."_

 __

Tony grinned, "That's just the kind of guy I am."

 

The Hat snorted, _"No, that's just the sort of fellow you pretend to be because you think he'll be better liked. If you had your way you'd have me put you in Slytherin and let you spend the rest of your life being something you're not."_

 

"But… I _am_ a Slytherin. That's where I'm supposed to go, it's where _DiNozzos_ go!"

 

 _"No, dear one. You only_ think _you should. You're all bound up in the appearance of the thing, just like all your fathers before you. But you little one, I think you just might be strong enough to be sorted somewhere that you can be happy instead of where you'll be presentable"_

 

"You can't! I'm just like my father and I'm supposed to be a Slytherin, everybody says so!" Tony hissed, trying to keep his voice down.  

 __

 _"My dear boy, for all that you may look like that scoundrel who fathered you, you are your mother's son. You are terribly clever, and recklessly brave, but you're more than that. I simply must send you off to_ HUFFLEPUFF!"


	4. XMFC - Vampire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 of the 12 Days of Christmas. Which may just be the happiest day ever because I finished my finals this morning!   
>  X-Men: First Class - Vampires

 

Erik had dreams about what it would be like to drink Charles, to leave bruises on those narrow hips and feel that well-mannered body writhe underneath him while Erik made the human irrevocably his. Erik had reached the point were he had to be upwind of Charles because the sweet smell of Charles, throughly alive and human, tormented Erik and made him want to taste. 

 

As humans sometimes did, something in young, unassuming Charles reacted to the presence of something primeval and he had started putting off enough pheromones that well meaning vampires were turning up at their front door to try their luck with him. Erik had driven them all off with a feral smile and the mention of his name (only fools fought with a vampire as old as Erik). Charles lamented that all Erik's 'brethren' only stayed for a night before pressing on, and somehow missed when his students stared at Charles like he had to be out of his mind to miss the subtext.

 

Despite all Erik's circling around Charles and marking his territory, he knew a challenge would come, he just hadn't expected it to come from one of the students. 

 

Alex was hot-headed and newly turned, and had never been exposed to the kind of heat Charles was putting off. Which meant that when Charles came in from his morning run, all sweaty curls and rapidly beating heart, Alex lost control. He vaulted down the hall heading for Charles at a dead run, and Erik stepped between them. Colliding with Erik was like smashing headlong into a brick wall, and Alex crashed to the ground for it. He sprang back to his feet, but Erik was faster. Erik grabbed Alex by the lapels and tossed the boy back down the hallway. The boy bounded back to his feet and Erik hissed, "Think about what you're doing!"

 

Charles pressed up against Erik's back and asked "Erik? What's going on?"

 

Or, he would've asked if the hot press of Charles along Erik's spine hadn't snapped the last of his control. Erik twisted around and slammed Charles up against the door and slowly ran his descended fangs along the column of Charles' throat, pausing when he realized that the smell coming off Charles wasn't fear, it was arousal. 

 

Erik kept Charles braced against his body and twist his head around to bear his fangs at Alex, who stumbled back into Armado's restraining arms at the inbred knowledge that if he touched Charles now Erik would tear him limb from limb.

 

Alex exposed his throat in submission, and Erik tried to tell his hindbrain that the threat was gone, he could put Charles down now, but the fool human wrapped his legs around Erik's waist and clung to him, all with Charles' throaty whimpers and the smell of his sweat and arousal twining around Erik, dangerously close to the debauchery that Erik had been dreaming of. 

 

Charles pressed himself a little closer and sighed in Erik's ear, and well… Erik decided to be proud of himself that he made it to the bedroom.


	5. Hawaii 50 - Reporter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 of the 12 Days of Christmas.  
> Hawaii 5-0 - Reporter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one isn't so much a fusion with a pre-existing universe as it is inspired by something. There's a scene in Gandhi where he's getting interviewed by a reported (Candace Bergman), and reporter is buzzing around him taking a million pictures while Gandhi is just this point of calm in the storm. And for some reason the Steve and Danny in my head sort of leapt into that dynamic. I hope you like it.

 

Steve didn't try to keep the irritation off his face while he strode into the hotel room where the reporter was waiting. The woman from Naval PR darted along behind him, trying to talk him into the freshly pressed service uniform they had waiting for him, or maybe just cracking a smile. Steve was expecting a mess of polished assistants, all buzzing around trying to make the whole situation look more refined. But what he got was one man fiddling with the knobs on his camera and taking a picture of the bed. "What kind of interview do you think we're doing?" Steve interrupted. 

 

The man didn't even jump, which Steve had to give him props for, just pulled back from the camera to stare at his screen and check the image, then adjusted a setting before taking another picture. "As thrilled as my editor would be to have me come back with _that_ as part of my copy, I'm pretty sure my ex-wife would use it as yet another reason why I'm not allowed custody of my kid." The man gave his camera a nod, apparently deciding that he had everything adjusted, and he finally looked up at Steve. After a very thorough once over that made Steve feel mostly naked (and like he wouldn't mind if he were) the man continued, "Though if you'd like to pose for a shot or two for my boss's private collection, I'm pretty sure that'd get me a raise."

 

The PR woman huffed and tried to muscle her way past Steve and into the room, but the smartalec with the camera turned to her and grinned, "Oh, we're good. I'm sure you've got better things to do with your time this morning." She sputtered about rules and observation, but the reporter just neatly glided her out of the room, shutting the door in her face and smirking all the while. He puffed out a relieved sigh and turned back to Steve, "So Commander McGarrett, I'm Danny. You want a drink?"

 

"I think I'm actually supposed to have her in here."

 

"What? You're a real, live, grown up SEAL. You telling me you need her to run defense for you?"

 

Steve didn't really have anything to say to that that wasn't slightly treasonous so instead he replied, "You're wearing a tie."

 

The reporter just stared at him a moment before he muttered, "If that's the best conversation starter you've got we might actually need her in here to mediate."

 

Steve just rolled his eyes and leaned back against the door. "I just mean that we're in Hawaii, and people don't wear ties in Hawaii." 

 

Danny adjusted his camera a took a shot of slouching Steve, who was staring straight into the lens like he was dealing with a crazy person, and replied, "Ties are what civilized people wear while they're being professionals. No matter what pineapple-infested hell they're in."

 

Steve just rolled his eyes, and judging by the click Danny got that on camera too. "Most people consider this paradise."

 

"Most people are idiots. Take off your jacket."

 

"What?"

 

"Your jacket. If my tie is out of place then that coat is pure insanity."

 

"It's part of the uniform." Steve protested, but took it off anyway. "And if my jacket comes off, so does your tie."

 

Danny looked up from his screen with a quirked eyebrow, "You know, for a guy who seemed skittish about me taking pictures of a bed to adjust my aperture, you're getting me undressed pretty quick."

 

Steve just glared at Danny until he dropped the camera and took off the tie. "Jeez, you're sensitive. What, is Pearl your favorite base or something?"

 

"I've actually never been stationed here."

 

"So why?"

 

Steve waited until Danny was busy tossing open the curtains instead of looking at Steve before he answered, "It's home."

 

"I get that. The ex took my kid to London. Don't get me wrong, it's an amazing place, especially since I like cities. But there's never anything quite like home."

 

Steve followed Danny out onto the balcony, "Why London?"

 

"That's where she's from. And where the new husband works." Danny turned and took another photo of Steve leaning up against the far edge of the railing, the ocean off in the background and the sleeve of his t-shirt riding up just a little to frame his tattoo. "But we're not here to talk about me, we're here to talk about you."

 

"I thought we were here for me to say something vague and inspiring for you to drop into some random article on the war." 

 

Danny snorted and went back into the room, waiving at Steve to stay on the balcony when he tried to come in. "Nope, they keep me away from pieces like that. I tend to get off topic."

 

Steve slouched against the rail, "I can't imagine. So you do what? Human interest stuff?" 

 

Danny smirked and laid back on the bed, shifting a bit until he found the angle he was looking for, something that took advantage of the dying light and made Steve look a little larger than life. "Some. I've done some investigative stuff, and I was a war correspondent for a while, but then I met the ex, and then my kid came."

 

"You stopped risking your life?"

 

Danny shifted again, "You risk your life crossing the street. I just got a little less wanton about it."

 

"Wanton?" Steve grinned.

 

"When words are your living you're allowed to say things like wanton."

 

"Still, doesn't mean you should."

 

"Not all of us can be big, bad Navy SEALs."

 

"So, what's the article about anyway?"

 

Danny sat up at that one, dropping the camera into his lap while he stared at nothing. "I don't really know."

 

"How are you supposed to write if you don't know what you're writing about?"

 

Danny looked affronted, "I know what I'm writing _about_ , I just don't know what I'm _saying_ yet. There's a difference."

 

Steve grinned at the ridiculous distinction, and ignored the camera click when Danny caught his smile. 

 


	6. XMFC - Alternate Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6 of the 12 Days of Christmas!
> 
> This one isn't so much an alternate universe as it is an alternate future after X-Men 3.

 

 

After the Cure, and his own death, and losing the Professor, and their whole world being ripped apart, the Phoenix had come to him. (Come to wherever it was he'd been. Scott couldn't quite remember.) 

 

It had offered it's apologies for contaminating a mutant child, for choosing someone not strong enough to carry it in peace and harmony but instead leading then all to chaos. And it had promised to make things right.

 

After that, Scott had woken in his own bed at the mansion, with the world different then he knew it to be. 

 

The children didn't remember being shot with needles full of the Cure when they were meant to be safe in their own home, and if the teens didn't think about it too hard, they began to forget as well. As for the X-Men, they knew, but the pain of it didn't dig deep like it once had, like the whole thing had happened to someone else. Jean's powers returned to normal, and those who chose the Cure remained that way (but couldn't quite remember why), and all the world believed Charles Xavier had died peacefully in his bed, surrounded by the children he had given his life to protect.

 

In the following months Scott often wondered why the Phoenix hadn't seen fit to give them back the Professor. Magneto's death had provided them an opportunity to unite the mutant people as never before, and if the Professor had come back unopposed, he might have led them to the peaceful end he'd always dreamed of. But as it was, Emma Frost stepped into Magneto's place. (At least she was willing to negotiate with Scott, which was more than Mystique would've done.) The two of them were slowly but steadily working their way to a middle ground, and Scott thought that was something to be proud of.

 

It wasn't until nine months (to the day) from when Scott had woken up from the dead that he understood exactly what the Phoenix had promised. Scott stepped outside for his morning run, and found a baby boy sleeping on the manor's front porch. The decades of difference between this child and when Scott had seen him last didn't change those wide eyes, and Scott knew exactly who he was holding. 

 

Scott called Wolverine, Storm, Beast, and Jean to his office, and most of them knew better than to argue with him when he had that stubborn set to his jaw, but Jean still tried to talk him into sending the child someplace else. After a hideously long argument with Jean where he'd finally ended things (knowing that, if given the opportunity to do anything she wanted, your fiance would kill you and be in love with another man was a hurdle they'd never quite overcome), and Scott adopted the baby he knew carried the soul of Charles Xavier. 

 

(The boy was identical to the Professor in all his human pieces, but Beast said the X-gene never manifested itself the same way twice, so anyone running DNA would suspect that despite being confined to a wheelchair, the good Professor had still managed to get someone pregnant in his final days.)

 

Scott had gone on that way, settling comfortably into fatherhood and believing that all was right with the world, until late one night Wolverine came back from a trip to Germany with a baby tucked in his arms. 

 

This time they called Beast and Storm, but Nightcrawler took Jean's place. Wolverine told them how he'd heard children crying as he walked past the orphanage, and felt something tug on his metal skeleton, pulling him toward the building. Wolverine delivered the story apathetically, but it was hard to believe him when the terrifying man was gently running his palm up and down the boy's back to coax him to sleep. 

 

Storm insisted this was a conversation for the whole of the X-Men, and before Beast had even run the DNA test the whole of the team were voicing their opinions. Some said the child should be given the Cure now, before he ever had the chance to know what it meant to be mutant, and others who suggested that the only way to be free of Magneto was to kill him now and have done with it. Beast and Nightcrawler were the ones everyone expected to speak for keeping the child, but it was Wolverine who extended his claws and walked out the room, shouting over his shoulder that anyone who touched the child would end up skewered. 

 

From then on Nathan Charles Summers and Steven James Howlett were inseparable, and just like the whole ordeal that had created them in the first place, the X-Men slowly began to forget who the boys had once been. 

 

Later, much, much later, Scott finally asked what made Wolverine bring Steve back with him.

 

"I saw her."

 

They'd passed the point where Scott felt the need to play dumb, and said, "The Phoenix?"

 

Logan grunted, his gaze still firmly on the child fussing in his arms. "She said she went to Magneto, before she tried to set it right. And she asked him what he wanted."

 

"He chose something other than mutant domination?"

 

Logan snorted, "She gave him the choice to have his powers back and go on as he was, or to start over as a child while the world went forward."

 

Scott didn't know quite what to make of that and replied, "He probably figured it would give him a whole other lifetime to work towards his goals."

 

Logan ran his fingers through Steve's hair, still downy and sticking up in a hundred different directions. "She didn't explain it, she just said he'd chosen to be with Charles."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, in my head canon Wolverine named his son after Captain America (Steve Rogers).


	7. NCIS - Star Trek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7 of the 12 Days of Christmas!
> 
> NCIS - Star Trek (though because I love inter-species relationships this is set sometime during DS9/Voyager rather than during the movie).

 

Captain Leroy Jethro Gibbs of the U.S.S. Eagle knew he was a difficult man to work with. He'd been told so by several ex-wives, most of the Admiralty, and the whole of his command staff. He rarely minded the complaints because he always got the job done, nothing else mattered to him. 

 

Though the admiralty seemed to think his good behavior mattered more, which is why they'd hand-picked him a First Officer who might actually make him behave. (They all conveniently ignored that the last officer they'd forced on Gibbs had been driven to drink and now refused to be in the same star system as his former captain.) 

 

Lieutenant Scutio poked her head into Gibbs' office and smiled at him like she knew he was hiding out and hoping this whole thing was a paperwork snafu. Scutio was his chief science officer, and had been since she'd been an Ensign fresh from the Academy. Gibbs had been Captain for a whole two days when they'd run into an exploding star, and while the CSO Gibbs had been assigned had a meltdown right at his console, Scutio had saved the day. Gibbs had sent a note with his report telling the admiralty that he was leaving his former CSO at the nearest base for them to pick up since Gibbs couldn't be bothered to deal with him any longer. (They'd complained that an Ensign couldn't be a CSO, so Gibbs' next communication Ensign Scutio had been promoted to Lieutenant. 

 

"Come on, Bossman! Your new firstie is getting ready to beam up." Gibbs rolled his eyes, but let her pull him to the turbo lift. Scutio babbled something inane and pleasant while they walked, obviously hoping to make her captain feel a little better about this whole mess. 

 

Lieutenant Ziva was far less prone to bouts of hopefulness, and the moment Gibbs entered the transporter room where the rest of his command staff were waiting she asked, "Why does Starfleet continue to operate under the ill conceived notion that forcing you into a situation will turn out beneficially to them when it never has in any prior documented instance?"

 

"That's a question I've been asking myself for years, Lieutenant."

 

The young Vulcan had obviously been expecting more of an answer than that but knew better than to ask Gibbs on a day like today. Instead Lieutenant Todd, with the calm surety that only Betazoids had, pulled Ziva to the side and explained the warped intricacies of human male interpersonal relationships. Lieutenant Commander McGee just ignored them all in favor of typing out something on his data pad.

 

Ducky finally sauntered in looking excessively chipper and bid them all a good morning. "Jethro, my lad! How are you doing this fine morning? Excited to finally have a First Officer I imagine."

 

The whole room just stopped moving at that, half expecting Gibbs to throw Ducky out an airlock, either for insinuating that he needed a First Officer, or that he actually felt an emotion like excitement. Gibbs just snorted, and Ducky barreled on, "Come now, you've been making your little officers do all the First Officer's work lately. I should think they'd be thrilled to have another officer to help carry the weight. Particularly if it means another layer of defense between them and your temper." 

 

Gibbs completely ignored Ducky's commentary and turned to Ziva, "Sit rep?"

 

A whole year of serving with Gibbs had taught Ziva to answer questions quickly and ignore that logic dictated Gibbs should've done this research on his own. Ziva handed him a PADD, which Gibbs completely ignored, and rattled off the details. "Commander Anthony Dante DiNozzo. Graduated in the top half of his class from the Academy, with excellent recommendations despite his mediocre academic record. Served two years as the Chief Tactical Officer on the U.S.S. Baltimore. He comes highly recommended by half of the command crew."

 

Gibbs raised an eyebrow, which Ziva translated to mean, 'What about the other half?' "His former captain and several members of the command crew are unable to provide recommendations because they are currently in the custody of Federation Intelligence. All inquiries I made into the matter were rebuffed as part of an ongoing investigation."

 

Gibbs turned to Todd for an explanation, but the best she had was, "Whatever happened, the people who know things have a giant 'Do Not Touch' sign over that part of their memory. Each individual remembers, but they've been mind-melded to the point no one can pluck it out of their heads."

 

"That's good, right Gibbs? If everyone else on the ship has great things to say about him it means he's clean, right?" Scutio interjected.

 

"Or," Ziva interrupted, "It means he was a part of the problem and they were unable to find sufficient evidence to incarcerate him and are expecting the Captain to fulfill the task for them."

 

"Well that's just… _depressing_."

 

"Given the facts as we are aware of them it is a legitimate interpretation. One that does not need the addition of an emotional component to provide it with legitimacy." 

 

Scutio was ready to shoot back, but McGee interrupted, "Commander DiNozzo is beaming up now, Sir." 

 

The two women stalled their argument when the transporter engaged, both on their best behavior for the off chance that Gibbs would actually keep this officer. The man solidified in the transporter beam, and it was all Scutio could do not to giggle. Commander DiNozzo all long legs and broad shoulders, with his species' characteristic rows of spots running down the side of his face and along his neck, where they would continue to steam down the sides of his body. (Something about the man's easy smile and bright green eyes made Scutio want to rip off his shirt and follow the path of those spots. And judging by the way Gibbs' jaw clenched, she wasn't the only one.)

 

This was going to be fun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abby is meant to be a Bajoran (though I don't think I even give you details about that. Ziva is a Vulcan, Cait is a Betazed, Tony is a Trill, and Gibbs is straight up human. Ducky and Tim I never picked a species for, so imagine them as whatever makes you happy. (More information than you ever wanted to know about those species, along with pictures, is available on memory-alpha.org. Just in case someone has a burning question.)


	8. Sherlock - Tudor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 8 of the 12 Days of Christmas! (We're getting close!)
> 
> Sherlock in Tudor England, with a little Genderbend (I do so love Joanna Watson). Thanks to you lovely people who've been reviewing, I really appreciate it.

 

Mycroft grabbed Sherlock by the shoulder and slammed him down into a chair in one of the spare rooms. Sherlock tried to shrug off his brother's unwanted grip, but Mycroft just tightened his hold and forced Sherlock back down. "What are you doing! ! I have things to do, Mycroft!"

 

"No, you have Miss Adler to chase after like a lovesick puppy."

 

Sherlock wrenched out of his brother's grip and sprung to his feet, "She's _interesting_ , Mycroft. That's all."

 

"Interesting?" Mycroft mocked in faux contemplation. "Oh well, if that's all. And I'm sure it has nothing to do with how she tells you constantly that you're the only man who's been able to catch her in her little tricks?"

 

"She thinks that I'm clever, Mycroft, that's nothing to judge her for!"

 

"You _are_ clever Sherlock, why in heaven's name do you need her telling you so?"

 

"I don't _need_ anything. She's interesting, while all the rest of these people are wretchedly dull! They gossip, and whine, and indulge in their pointless little political intrigues while Irene at least does something worth paying attention to."

 

"Your think your Miss Adler is really so different?" Mycroft asked in disbelief at his brother being such a fool.

 

Sherlock snorted, "I'm not blind. I know that Irene has goals just like the rest of them, but she's not just talking to me to get them. She knows better." 

 

"Really, and what is it she knows?"

 

"Unlike the typical fools who usually trail after me, she knows that there's nothing to be gained from me. There's no money, no honors, no title, and no amount of pleading will send me running to you for help! Irene spends her time with me because she finds me fascinating."

 

"Ah, and of course, it has nothing to do with the fact that looking like she's charmed you is the surest way to establish a woman's reputation. I'm sure it doesn't mean a thing that since she's been spending so much time in your company she's had offers from four lords willing to make her their mistress?"

 

"She hasn't accepted." Sherlock snapped.

 

"Of course not! Why would she when she's still got you on the hook? The longer you stay engrossed in her the better her offers. Several gentleman are tempted to propose to her just so they can say for they rest of their lives that they stole away the only woman that Sherlock Holmes ever fancied! You've build her a whole career!"

 

"What does it matter!"

 

"What… what does it matter?" Mycroft stumbled out. "Brother, I love you, and anyone with a half a mind understands that should you ever need me I would be by your side in a moment, which is a truth that you seem to have forgotten-" Sherlock tried to interrupt, but Mycroft waived him off and plowed on. "It is out of that love for you that I now ask,  despite the fact that you're being a ninny: where is Miss Watson?"

 

Sherlock waived off in the direction of the ballroom, "Somewhere out there flouncing about like an overdressed buffoon, the prey of whomever told her she looks decent in purple."

 

Mycroft stifled a sigh, "I was _not_ seeking the location of Miss Harriet Watson Sherlock, as you well know."

 

Sherlock stared at him in puzzlement for a moment before, "Joanna? She didn't come tonight."

 

"And how do you know that?"

 

"Because I haven't _seen_ her, and I always see Joanna when she comes."

 

"Always?" Mycroft poked.

 

" _Always._ What's the point of this, Mycroft?"

 

"Joanna _is_ here this evening. Under normal circumstances I would be surprised that you and your ability to know everything had missed that, but given the circumstances-"

 

"Your _point_!" Sherlock snapped, and for the first time in weeks Mycroft thought this whole debacle might end well. If Sherlock was still attached enough to Joanna to care that the girl's first stop hadn't been him, he just might be saved. 

 

"My point, little brother, is where. is. your. Joanna?"

 

"Obviously she is otherwise occupied." Sherlock grumbled.

 

"Hmm, is that what they call it?"

 

"What are you talking about?"

 

"Have you really not noticed? Well that's strange-"

 

"Mycroft!" Sherlock hissed.

 

"Since you've left her all alone while you ran off to chase after Miss Adler, Captain Lestrade has been picking up the slack."

 

Sherlock just stared at Mycroft, for a moment, cataloguing the half a dozen details that he'd missed because he was too busy playing cat and mouse with Irene to notice them. Sherlock finally stumbled out, "Lestrade means to, to court her." 

 

Mycroft snorted, forcing himself to be anything but gentle. "Joanna is the second daughter to a wastrel of a father who's left neither of his girls a dowry, and her elder sister seems content to be little more than a prostitute. An offer from Captain Lestrade is better than Joanna Watson ever could have hoped for. My sources say Lestrade has been making discrete inquiries into homes in the West Country, which means he's likely to propose soon and they'll be wed before the month is out."

 

This was one of those rare times when Mycroft was grateful he'd never been able to lie properly to his brother, because it meant Sherlock wasted very little time examining his brother for the truth and instead barreled out of the room at an undignified run to find Joanna, all thoughts of Adler forgotten. 


	9. Sherlock - CSI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 9 of the 12 Days of Christmas!
> 
> Sherlock and a CSI-esque fusion. (John runs the lab.)

 

"Your choice of soundtrack is abysmal, Dr. Watson. Who listens to Christmas music when they're analyzing murder evidence?"

 

John kept his focus on the microscope in front of him and replied, "We've been over this, Mr. Holmes. If you want access to my findings then you have to play nice while you're in my lab."

 

Holmes tugged off his gloves and started typing on John's computer to bring up the results. "You keep saying that, but I never agreed, and you've never withheld evidence from me when I can use it to solve a case. So, lets stop pretending that you're going to actually follow through on your threats and move on to more interesting things, shall we?"

 

As Sherlock finished his little tirade he tapped the enter key, but the computer beeped in rejection. Sherlock typed in the password again, assuming he'd just mis-typed something in his rush to a dramatic delivery. But then the computer beeped a 'no' again. Sherlock sped through a dozen more possible passwords before John interrupted, "I had one of the boys from the tech department lock you out."

 

"Impossible." Holmes snapped, moving on to more existentially password possibilities. "I'm better than your tech department."

 

"Didn't say it was _my_ tech department." John finally looked up from his microscope and rolled his chair over to  calibrate a different machine and drop in the sample. "I had this chap drop by with our captain. Bit stuffy and obviously didn't think much of me, but considering he was walking around with an umbrella in the middle of a heatwave that doesn't mean much. But he did bring a girl with him. Pretty thing and glued to her Blackberry. She put it down for a whole two minutes, did _something_ to my computer, and got right back on. But when she was done the chap with the umbrella told me anyone short of James Bond wouldn't be able to break into the system."

 

Holmes made a strangled noise and John finally turned his attention to the man. Holmes was standing stock still in the middle of the room, the corner of one eye twitching as he just stared at John. "He didn't say James Bond. He loathes James Bond."

 

John cocked his head and stared at Sherlock, who looked ready to vibrate out of his skin. "I'm sorry but, did your arch nemesis upgrade my lab's security just to annoy you or something?"

 

Holmes grunted, and John took that as a yes. "You've… got to be kidding me. You've got an arch nemesis? Who the captain trusts enough to let go roaming around our security system?" 

 

Holmes rolled his eyes and bounded straight back to the computer, frantically typing in code to get in through the back door and rip all traces of Mycroft's programming out of John's computer. "What are you doing, Mr. Holmes?" 

 

"Getting Mycroft's grubby, fat little fingers out of this office." 

 

"What on earth are you on about? How do you know the chap with the umbrella?" John tried to get around Sherlock and see what he was doing, but Sherlock slapped John's hands and went right on typing. 

 

"He's my brother. My horrible, nosey, wretched brother. Who probably has half a dozen trojan horses on your computer so he can keep track of me through your case notes."

 

John paused, then slumped back down in his chair. "Silly me, of course it's about you."

 

"What _are_ you on about Doctor Watson?"

 

"This whole frantic scramble to get on my computer, it's all about one upping your brother, and nothing else."

 

"What else would it be about? Mycroft has no legitimate interest in you, or in police work. He's got the Secret Service to find out whatever he needs to know about that."

 

"Secret-" John tried to but in, but Holmes kept rambling.

 

"No, he wants to know how often I drop by when I could run the experiments myself, what sort of cases I'm taking, whether or not they're _actually_ interesting or I'm just feigning, how much information I give you, and what sorts of comments you make about me in your files. He's probably even got the security cameras monitored so he can see how we speak to one another."

 

"That's… intensely creepy, Holmes."

 

"That's what he does."

 

"But, it doesn't make any sense, does it? Why in world would he bother getting into all that detail?"

 

There was the barest pause in Holmes' typing, and John zeroed in on that uncharacteristic break. "Steady on…"

 

Holmes popped up from the computer, leaving the job half done. "Well, now that I've got the door open I'm sure your tech people, awful as they are, will be able to handle the problem."

 

"Hold it!" Holmes completely ignored John and darted for the door, forcing John to pop out of his chair and get in between the lanky detective and the exit. Holmes tried to spin out of John's way and make his bid for freedom, but John caught him about the waist and drop him back into the recently vacated chair. 

 

"What _are_ you doing?" Holmes sputtered. 

 

"I played Rugby at uni. Only way to handle someone who's being wilely." 

 

" _Wilely_?"

 

"It suits the situation." 

 

"Doctor Watson-"

 

"No, you just shut up for a moment. Your brother turned up at my lab so he could keep tabs, not just on you in general, but on how you deal with me. While that is excessively creepy, it's also something I can see my own sister doing if she had the resources. But, why in the world would he be focused in on me?"

 

Holmes took this rare opportunity to keep his mouth shut. "Unless, your brother thinks you pay me too much attention. Like he think, thinks you _fancy_ me?"

 

Holmes went pale and then flushed a delightful shade of pink. "Well then," John grinned, "I suppose I ought to start calling you Sherlock."


	10. X-Men - Painter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 10 of the 12 Days of Christmas!
> 
> X-Men - Charles as a painter.

 

Charles ripped out another page of his sketchbook and tried, once again, to draw the long curve of a line that should trace the path of Emma's spine. The line was perfectly formed, just as it had been when he'd tried the same movement in pencil, charcoal, acrylic, oil, and -- in a fit of desperation -- a sharpie. He'd thrown all the offending materials to someplace over his shoulder where they couldn't mock him with their uselessness and just gone back to the pencil, trying instead to make Emma take up a new pose, but Emma refused to be thrown out of the studio when that didn't work either. 

 

He wanted to do a few pieces of Emma, he _knew_ that. In his mind. But his hands didn't seem to want to do the work. Emma was all clean lines, and delightful curves, and watching her smirk at Charles while he sketched away at his notebook was enough to make his creativity take delightfully devious turns. (When he wanted a show that was warm and homey he started by sitting Raven down in the comfortable chairs of his apartment and making her tell him all about school. But when he wanted something that lit fire in your blood he began with Emma lounging half naked around the sleek metal of his studio. Pieces of those women were rarely _in_ the show, but they always inspired something lovely.)

 

"Charlie, why don't you just tell me what's got you all tied up in knots?" Emma interjected.

 

Charles just snorted and tried to press through, forcing himself to keep adding lines to her frame in the hope that something would come out that didn't churn his stomach and make him wonder if talent had finally decided to abandon him for greener pastures. "You know what I think it is, babe?"

 

"Models who interrupt me when I'm trying to be creative?" He replied, his gaze firmly on her thighs rather than on her mocking mouth. 

 

"Tragically, no. But I do recall that the last time you looked at me naked and nothing inspirational happened it was because you'd already found your inspiration and you were pretending busy it hadn't happened." Charles puffed out a sigh and pressed so hard on the sketchbook that he snapped his pencil in two, to which Emma replied, "Ah, so that's it then." Charles ignored her to toss the pencil shards into the pile with the rest of his traitorous instruments and stormed over to the scotch. 

 

Emma slithered up from the stark, black medical table she'd been spread out on (Charles was going through a phase enthralled with dichotomies, and the setting juxtaposed perfectly with Emma's pale beauty). She wrapped a black sheet around her chest and plucked the tumbler out of Charles' fingers. "Last time you had this problem you ended up doing a perfectly respectable still life showcase."

 

"If by 'respectable' you mean 'dead dull', then yes, it was lovely." 

 

"It wasn't _dull,_ you were just… going through a _phase_."

 

"A phase where I was obsessed with stillness and trying to bring back a dead art form?"

 

"Well, yes. But they were all nicely composed."

 

Charles snorted, "They were _awful_ , Emma. Don't pretend otherwise." 

 

Emma hopped up onto the counter, bracketing Charles between her thighs, " _I_ didn't much like them-"

 

"Neither did I." Charles interrupted. 

 

"But," Emma plowed on, "your dealer certainly did. And all those people with too much money and too little taste adored them as well. I recall you made a ridiculous sum of money on that showing." Charles grumbled, but didn't deny it. "Enough money that you've been allowed to do whatever you liked for the last few years and never had to worry about producing something that could be mass produced. All in all it wasn't a terrible thing. Despite the abysmal state of that art," she conceded. "So why are you so flustered that it has happened again?"

 

Charles dropped his head to Emma's shoulder with a moan, "Because it's not fruit this time."

 

She ran long fingers through his wavy hair and teased, "Last I recall it wasn't just fruit. There were some benches, and a leaf just as it was poised to fall, and a particularly existential one with a clock."

 

"This is worse than that damn clock." 

 

"Darling, nothing is worse than that clock."

 

"But this is!" He whined. 

 

Emma tugged Charles up by his hair and declared, "If you are going to continue to be pathetically melodramatic about this then I'm leaving you to your scotch."

 

Charles rolled his eyes, "I knew I could depend on you to be the soul of comfort and support, Emma. Really, the best sort of friend a man could ask for." 

 

"I'm more than willing to listen to you complain when you're being interesting, but now you're just spinning your heels and making me sit around naked when you already know what you're going to paint. That's degrading, Charles."

 

"Wait, so it's not the part where you're naked that irritates you, it's the part where you won't be on display at the end of it?"

 

Emma slithered down from the counter, the sheet getting caught up behind her and showing off her legs. "Really, Charles. Look at me. Any time I'm not on display is an abomination." Emma said it with such seriousness that Charles couldn't help but laugh. "Now tell me darling, what's worse than the still life fiasco?"

 

"It's, uh…" Charles flushed. 

 

"Out with it darling."

 

"My _lawyer_ ," he moaned. 

 

Emma sputtered out a laugh, "I'm sorry, I must have misheard you. Your what?"

 

Charles pulled out of Emma's arms and stormed off, shoving his hands deep in his pockets in irritation. "He works for my art dealer, and for several more 'practical' ventures."

 

"Wait, wait. You're fascinated with a man who the only word he could find for your art was _impractical_?"

 

"Yes." he grunted.

 

"And I suppose that what he's inspiring you to draw is a series that displays his slow and painful death?"

 

Charles didn't turn, but that didn't stop Emma from seeing the back of his neck flush red. Emma grabbed Charles by the shoulder and spun him around to demand, "Are you insane? You want to _paint_ your _lawyer_? Have you lost your senses?"

 

"What's so wrong with that?" Charles defended.

 

"What, what's wrong?" Emma sputtered. "You've gone all starry-eyed and inspired by someone who thinks you're just wasting your time until you get practical and settle into a _real_ job!" The buzzer on the door went off, distracting Emma from the imminent continuation of her outburst, and Charles took the change to interrupt. 

 

"Oh yes, thank you Emma. Because I had completely lost my senses and that thought never entered my mind."

 

"Stop it, Charles! You lose the right to be testy when you're about to throw away your career for a pencil pusher who'll never understand what you are!" 

 

"I'm not throwing anything away! I'd just like to paint him is all!" 

 

Emma tossed up her hands in frustration and stomped over to the door, the buzzer going off again. She tossed open the heavy sheet of metal that served as Charles' door and demanded, "What!"

 

There was a man there in a fine pinstripe suit that, if possible, made him look even more stunning then Emma imagined he would look naked. He gave her and her sheet-clad frame a long, piercing look, only to look over her shoulder and gave a predatory smirk to a flame red Charles. Emma looked at the man, with all her time with Charles giving her a unique insight into how the artist saw beauty in the world, and she turned back to Charles to declare, "Oh, well, you're just doomed."


	11. Hawaii 50 - Digimon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 11 of the 12 Days of Christmas!
> 
> Hawaii-50 with Digimon. Yeah, you read that right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who didn't watch Digimon when you were younger, just think of them as a cross between Daemons and Pokemon. They talk, and have their own individual personalities, but they evolve and can be separated from their humans. And they choose which human, (aka: digidestined) they attach themselves to.
> 
> I feel like I have to explain this chapter. It came over Thanksgiving break when my nephew and I were both ill and quarantined to my room. He had me pull up cartoons for him on my laptop and he started to watch Digimon Season 1 on youtube, while I watched Hawaii 5-0 episodes on my kindle (interspersed with fanfic). And the two merged in my brain and demanded to be written.

 

"Is there a reason that we're here in our room, instead of in Steve's room making out with him?" Patamon asked. 

 

"Because if you made out with Steve I think my head might explode." Danny replied sharply. 

 

"Because you can't stand the though of Steve romancing anyone else?"

 

"No, because you're a ball of fluff and he's a human, that doesn't really work out. And Steve has never and _will_ never romance anyone because he can't string together enough words to form a complete sentence. He communicates in grunts and hand gestures, none of which are romantic!"

 

Patamon poked his small furry head out from the bundle of blankets he was burrowed under and replied, "You seem a little tense, Danno."

 

"Tense! I've got Steve on one side making eyes at me, Kono and Chin looking at me like I've kicked their puppy every time I tell him no, and my own digimon is on their side!"

 

Patamon rested his head on outstretched paws and let Danny have his rant. After nearly a decade together, Patamon knew that silence was the only way to ride out the storm. Danny just paced back and forth, shouting about how they were all out of their minds. He had a girl waiting for him back in the real world, and when they were done being digidestined he was going back to her.

 

Patamon waited until Danny stopped to take a breath and interjected, "Isn't this the girl who said she didn't want you to come to the Digital World to help save us again?"

 

"Well, yeah, but it wasn't so much about not wanting to save you, as it was about not wanting me to get hurt."

 

Patamon paled, "She thought that I would ever let anything bad happen to you?"

 

Danny dropped down next to his digimon and ran his hands over the thin layer of fur on Patamon's back, giving his digimon long, smooth strokes to calm him down. (When Danny was still a child he and Patamon had rarely stopped touching each other, with the little digimon riding on his shoulder, or snuggling together whenever they sat. Now Danny was less demonstrative, but Patamon still adored his human's touches, and secretly Danny missed them too.) "It's not about you babe, she's just…"

 

Patmaon nuzzled into Danny's stomach, "Didn't she know you were a digidestined?" 

 

"She _knew_ , she just, didn't quite get what it meant."

 

"That we'd actually need you?"

 

"Something like that. I think she thought my part in it was done. That it was all a story and not something that would apply to her, or to us." 

 

Patamon bumped his head into Danny's hand, reminding him that there was a head there to scratch. They stayed that way for a minute, both of them sitting in the silence until Patamon whispered, "It sounds like, like she won't be happy when you get home. And wouldn't be happy if you keep coming back to us. To me."

 

"Nah babe, I don't think she will be."

 

"So, does that mean you're going to have to choose between us, Danno?"

 

Patamon was a plump little thing, short and stout in a way that perfectly matched Danny. He ran steady hands over Patamon's fluffy back and along the little wings that seemed like they shouldn't carry the digimon's weight, but managed to anyway. When Danny first met Patamon he'd been small enough that he had to cradle Patamon in his arms to lift him, and now Danny could palm the small body like a basketball. He couldn't imagine ever going without the digimon. "Choose not to see you again? I don't think I could do it, babe." 

 

"Well then, maybe…"

 

"Maybe I should let her go and pick someone who wouldn't want me to walk away from this?"

 

Patamon nudged closer, "If that's how you want to put it."

 

Danny snorted, "'Want to' nothing, Patamon. It's never that simple."

 

"Why not?" The little digimon popped up and put its paws on Danny shoulders, looking him straight in the eye. "If it's what you want, why can't you do that?"

 

"Life isn't like that, babe. I've got obligations, and things that people expect of me. And taking up with a boy who's from _Hawaii_ isn't on the list."

 

"So?" Patamon asked with a shrug.

 

"…So? So, that's the explanation."

 

"That's a terrible explanation. You can't not do things just because other people won't like it. Especially when it'll make you happy Danno. Your life is supposed to be for you, not for other people."

 

"Patamon-"

 

" _No_ , Danno. Just tell me, when you see yourself at the end of our little quest, who do you see yourself talking to all the time? Out there in the world, who do you see yourself still with? Is it really this Rachel girl, or, or do you see yourself dropping by the digital world to see me, and pestering Steve about being reckless?"

 

Danny ran fingertips over the little wings once again and replied, "You already know, babe."

 

Patamon leaned closer and nudged his nose against Danny's before whispering, "Then what are you still doing here?"

 

Danny grinned then jumped up from his bed and dashed down the hall to Steve's door, banging on it to wake Steve up. Danny heard grumbling on the other side, but he kept pounding until Steve cracked it open. "Danny?"

 

Danny pushed his weight against the door, forcing it open despite Steve being in the way and crashed into Steve's chest, pressing their lips together in a frantic kiss. Steve sunk into it before pulling back and gasping, "Danny, are you-" but Danny refused to let him think about it too hard and stumbled into Steve again, all warm body and fervent lips. 

 

"Danny?"

 

"I pick you Steve, alright? Just go with it!" Never let it be said Steve McGarrett was a stupid man, because he shut up and did just that. 


	12. NCIS - Dragonriders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 12 of the 12 Days of Christmas!
> 
> NCIS as Dragonriders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the posting delay. For some reason I thought I posted this the morning of the 24th, and I've actually been a little heartbroken that no one thought it was worth commenting on. Color me embarrassed when I realized I hadn't posted.
> 
> Thanks to all the beautiful people who've read this! I appreciate you!

 

For the first time in the decade since he'd become a Dragon Rider, J'thro was angry at the system. 

 

J'thro had gone on search to find potential riders, and had seen Anthony shuffling around a store room, quietly stocking shelves and hoping no one would pay him any attention. In baggy clothes and scruffy hair most people wouldn't, but J'thro had seen the way the boy watched the exits and kept a placid expression when the customers got difficult. Tony was destitute, with a wretch of a father who had vanished on Tony and his mother, leaving them to pay off his debts. Tony was managing the bills with an odd collection of shopkeeping and other far less savory pursuits, and to make the whole thing more complicated, Tony was just a few months shy of his eighteenth birthday when he'd be too old to impress a dragon. 

 

All in all, not the best candidate to become a Rider. J'thro rarely brought anyone back to the weyr to try and impress the latest clutch of dragons, but when he did his choice was impeccable. And he'd chosen Tony anyway. 

 

Through a mix of bribery and finally just tossing the boy over the back of Shanneth, his dragon, J'thro got Tony back to the weyr. There'd been some commentary from other Riders about Tony's age and his thoroughly city upbringing, but for the most part J'thro had glowered and people shut up and left them both alone. Two days into his time at the weyr Tony had listened to every story Ducky had to tell, made a new best friend of T'mothy, a young Rider about to be thrashed for his love of all things mechanical, and been declared perfect by Abby, T'mothy's sweetheart and a young girl who intended to impress on the queen egg at the next hatching. Despite the lengths he'd gone to to get Tony there, J'thro could see in Tony's eyes that he was happy there. And not just because J'thro was pretty sure it was the first time Tony had eaten three square meals in as many years, but because he felt at home, fist fights and all. 

 

Which is why J'thro was so angry now. There were six eggs hatching, and more than enough youth there to impress on them all, but J'thro never entertained the notion that Tony wouldn't be one of them. When the last of the dragons passed him by J'thro saw the flash of pain on Tony's features before he slammed down on the expression and made himself look relieved that he hadn't been chosen. 

 

J'thro felt the warm brush of Shanneth's mind against his and the dragon said, _"Have faith, J'thro."_

 __

 _"Faith?_ " He replied, " _All the hatchlings have impressed! Am I supposed to have faith that someone will die and leave their dragon to Tony?"_

 

Shanneth snorted at J'thro's logic, but since J'thro's dragon was far gentler than her human, she let it pass. Ducky went up to Tony and put a gentle hand on his shoulder to lend support, but Tony shrugged off the kindness and strode out of the room, walking like he _meant_ not to be chosen and he had better places to be. J'thro waived Ducky back and followed the boy out of the cavern, trailing along silently until some of Tony's urge to pick a fight had been walked off.

 

Shanneth hadn't come to the hatching, declaring to her Rider that she had more important places to be, and now she nudged J'thro's mind, showing him the room where she was waiting, and told him to bring Tony.

 

There was a wide cavern on the lowest floor of the weyr, warm and dark, big enough for the other dragons to come and visit, and made for eggs that never hatched. The dragons didn't discuss what made an egg refuse to hatch at the proper time, or exactly what those unhatched dragons were waiting for, but every weyr had a little clutch of eggs that did nothing but sleep. Shanneth was there, staring at the dragon-kept fire in the middle of the cavern, and waiting for Tony to come find his dragon. (J'thro had heard stories about one of the sleeping eggs hatching for the right Rider, but it had never happened his lifetime. But Shanneth's steady confidence made him think he was about to.)

 

J'thro strode past Tony, waiving at the boy to follow him down the stairs and away from the excitement of the hatching. J'thro could almost feel Tony roll his eyes, but the boy followed, ranting, "This whole thing is ridiculous, you know that right? I mean, how in the hell is a dragon, fresh from the egg, supposed to know who's right for them and who's not? The fact that you guys have set yourselves up like this for the last thousand years is just a testament to how insane you all are. As if riding around on the back of a _dragon_ wasn't proof enough."

 

Tony went on like that, half a step behind J'thro the whole way until they reached the cavern where the eggs slept. Tony stepped into the room and gave Shanneth a pained smile before he realized they were surrounded by eggs and turned on his heel to storm out. Shanneth wasn't terribly large, but her strength came from her speed, and from one beat to the next she had her tail whipped around to stop Tony before he could flee. Tony turned to glare at the red dragon and glowered, "This is bullshit, Shanneth! Let me out!" 

 

While Tony was distracted with his yelling about the injustice of the situation she wrapped her tail around his chest and lifted the boy to the mound of hot sand where the first egg slept. Tony just glowered at her and Shanneth lifted one sharp eye ridge in reply. The two of them were perfectly able to communicate in facial expression, a fact which stunned J'thro over the last few days, but to be absolutely clear Shannth made J'thro translate anyway. "She says that she's going to hold you here until you touch every last egg." Shanneth snorted, and J'thro continued, "And she says she's more than willing to keep you trapped in her tail until you stop behaving like an offended cat." 

 

Tony hung there with his arms defiantly crossed until Shanneth leaned forward and nudged him with her snout, urging him to just try. Tony rolled his eyes and tapped the egg siting before him. 

 

And nothing happened. 

 

"Can we be done now?" Tony whined, more than a little heartbroken.

 

Shanneth twisted her tail and maneuvered Tony to the next egg and J'thro replied, "She says that she brought you here to touch the eggs and you're going to do it. So stop complaining." Tony grumbled something foul under his breath and Shanneth tightened her tail in scolding and he reached out to pat the next egg in apology. Again nothing happened, and Shanneth lifted him to the egg after that. 

 

Tony reached out to tap the egg, but stilled his hand a hair's breadth before making contact. The world seemed to stop and wait for Tony reach out and touch, the whisper of the fire and steady drips of water off in the depths of the cavern all fading into nothing at the moment. He finally crossed the space and the silence was broken by a deafening crack of the sleeping egg hatching. It was only a moment before the rest of the egg cracked away, leaving the tiny body and flexing wings of a beautiful green dragon. 

 

No, green wasn't right. The little thing was emerald, with glittering scales and white eyes that had settled on a baffled Tony. The emerald was the most sedate hatchling J'thro had ever seen, and Shanneth pulled J'thro into her mind so he could hear the conversation going on between Tony and his dragon. 

 

 _"Hello, little one."_

 

 _"Little one?_ " Tony questioned. " _You're the one who just popped out of an egg."_

 

The emerald snorted, " _I was laid 600 turns ago, while you were laid just seventeen. I have watched vicariously through my siblings all that time, while you have seen only with your eyes. Trust me, you are the little one here."_ The dragon leaned forward to nudge its tiny snout along Tony's cheek, softening any pain from the comment. _"Though you are_ my _little one, so that makes you special."_

 __

 _"Why did you stay in that egg for so long?"_ Tony asked, too bewildered to focus on anything better. 

 __

 _"I was waiting for you_." The dragon snuggled closer, ignoring Tony's baffled expression. _"Yes, yes, you were entirely worth waiting for my little one._ " The dragon reached its head up once again and pressed it's nose to Tony's looking him eye to eye and said, _"I am Benoith. You are A'thony. I am your dragon and you are my boy."_

 


End file.
